


go back to sleep

by itsmylifekay



Category: One Piece
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, General Shenanigans, M/M, some fighting and gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:11:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His skin tingles with an unfamiliar sensation and he shifts, mind becoming more alert as he takes in his surroundings and the strange, lingering warmth on his arm. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the fading shape of long fingers pressed into his skin.</p>
<p>“Go back to sleep, stupid marimo,” he hears. Sanji is standing close by, pulling on the last of his clothes and straightening his tie. His voice is low in the softness of the early morning and Zoro grunts at the words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	go back to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very late addition to zosan month, look forward to some art by Tartha over on tumblr!! I'll add it here when it's done.
> 
> art can be found here: http://timephilosopher.tumblr.com/post/148540678158/reference-x-artist-not-credited-i-searched-the

 

The air is sticky and dark when Zoro cracks open his eye, the cabin quiet around him. The ship creaks and sways and his crewmates snore and grumble in their sleep— all except one. Sanji. The reason he’s awake.

His skin tingles with an unfamiliar sensation and he shifts, mind becoming more alert as he takes in his surroundings and the strange, lingering warmth on his arm. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the fading shape of long fingers pressed into his skin.

“Go back to sleep, stupid marimo,” he hears. Sanji is standing close by, pulling on the last of his clothes and straightening his tie. His voice is low in the softness of the early morning and Zoro grunts at the words. He’s tired, he wants to sleep, but now that he’s been _told_ to he’s not so sure.

But Sanji leaves without any further remarks, slips out the door and no doubt towards the galley to do whatever it is he does in the hours before dawn. Zoro blinks out at the sudden stillness of the room and huffs out a breath. He’s not in the mood to be bothered.

The phantom touch on his arm soon fades to dream-like memory.

\-------

“Here you are my beautiful swans!” Sanji sings, depositing plates laden with food in front of both Nami and Robin. He’s got that infuriatingly love-struck smile on his face and a large part of Zoro wants to pick a fight just to see it gone.

But soon there’s food in front of him as well and he’s more intent on eating and fending off his captain’s reaching hands than irritating the cook. The food’s not half bad and the sake is good, the impromptu feast gaining speed around him. Dinner is always a raucous affair but today they’re eating with some new friends Luffy’s made in town, making it even more loud and messy than usual. He’s keeping an eye on everything but doesn’t worry too much. If anything happens, they’ll handle it. They always do.

Before long he’s nursing his third bottle of sake and ignoring all the cheers and shouts as the next wave of food starts filling the table. There are some desserts in this batch as well and Sanji certainly has a flare for them, especially with all the practice he’s had making them for Nami and Robin and occasionally Chopper, and they go over well with Luffy’s new friends too. They’re already singing the cook’s praises.

Zoro snorts into his bottle as a few men climb onto the table, hanging onto each other and starting up a call and response about the legendary Straw Hat cook. It doesn’t take long for Brook to grab his violin and then the whole place erupts into absolute chaos.

Through it all, Sanji keeps moving around the room, taking empty plates and replacing them with new ones. He flits from one corner to another, checking on everyone. There’s a pat to Chopper’s head and a sneakily given dessert; there’s a swoon over Robin’s hand and a good-natured clap to Usopp’s shoulder. He shouts and smacks Luffy’s hand away when he finds it reaching for Nami’s plate.

“Thank you, Sanji,” Nami smiles, sending Sanji into a fit of swooning and crooning over how he’d do anything for his _‘sweet Nami-swan’_.

“Idiots,” Zoro huffs, taking another long drink and nearly draining the bottle. He’ll have to get another soon.

Sanji moves to his area of the room next, plucking dirty dishes from the sea of food and people and balancing them carefully in one hand. He leans over to get some plates and his chest bumps Zoro’s shoulder, stays pressed there for a moment before finally pulling away. Zoro grunts at the contact but otherwise lets it go, watches from the corner of his eye as Sanji moves onto clearing the next part of the table.

The touch doesn’t bother him, but it lingers in the back of his mind. There was no reason for Sanji to touch him; and he knows Sanji’s balance is good enough that it wasn’t necessary either.

Drinking the last of his alcohol, Zoro sets down the bottle and glances over to Sanji, watching as he carries two towers of dishes into the kitchen, opening and closing the door with his foot without missing a beat.

Zoro grabs another bottle of sake.

There’d be time to worry about Sanji later; the moron was always a bit outside Zoro’s realm of understanding anyway.

\-------

They’re back at sea again and the sun is beating down on deck with scorching intensity. Sweat beads and drips down Zoro’s back, coats his neck and arms and darkens his hairline as he trains. Repetition after repetition, weights clanking with the movement, numbers breathed in staccato rhythm from his lips.

The rest of the crew are trying to distract themselves from the heat, hiding below deck in the shadows of the aquarium or tinkering away at tools and gadgets. Nami is tending to her oranges. Luffy’s sprawled out on the lion’s head. It’s a couple hours past noon and the heat of the day is at its highest, sapping energy and turning the Thousand Sunny into a moving sauna.

Zoro grits his teeth and pushes through his next set of repetitions, brow tense in concentration when he hears the galley door open and shut.

Footsteps go to and from the library, then to Nami’s trees.

“For you, my dear Nami,” Sanji says, followed by the clinking of ice.

Zoro’s eye flicks over to watch the exchange. Nami offers a thank you, and their fingers brush briefly as he hands over the glass.

It’s something innocent, simple, but it makes Zoro’s mouth twitch into a frown.

Since the crew’s two-year separation Sanji’s been…different. It’s barely perceptible, but it’s there. He just _needs_ more.

They all have needs, things they take from one another to be happy and secure. They’re a crew. They depend on each other. It makes sense. And they all changed during those two years. But Zoro’s noticed Sanji’s slight change the most, mostly because Sanji’s changed towards Zoro the most.

They fight but there’s a different edge to it. Underneath all of the aggression, irritation, and play is a new emotion that Zoro can’t place.

He sometimes catches Sanji staring, will look up from his plate or his swords or his training and find Sanji’s blue eyes flicking away, will feel the weight of them on his back. They all watch each other. And Zoro knows he and Sanji watch the others perhaps most of all— the need to protect the crew at the forefront of both their minds. But this is different.

And so is the touching.

Sanji’s always been tactile. He’s always more apt to express emotion and fawn over anyone or anything that strikes his fancy. He uses touch as a way to ground himself and connect to the crew. It’s a tool for him. Zoro respects that.

But that still doesn’t explain why there’s been _more_ touching. With the rest of the crew the increase has been minimal if it all, Luffy perhaps more than the others, but for Zoro it’s another story. The casual contact Sanji initiates towards him has nearly doubled.

And Zoro cannot figure out why.

It’s infuriating, enough so that when he pushes through the last of his bicep curls and feels the weight of Sanji’s eyes on him he looks up and stares right back.

Sanji’s eyebrow twinges, then his mouth twists. “What are you looking at?” he scowls.

“An idiot,” Zoro answers.

He barely has enough time to drop his weights and block the kick that comes flying towards his face. His swords sing in his hands as they connect with the bottom of Sanji’s shoes, finding resistance and pushing back with each swing and blow.

\-------

“Stupid bastard,” Sanji yells. “What the hell was that for?”

“You were in my way,” Zoro growls back.

They meet again in a flurry of movement and friction, dodging kicks and punches as their fighting ramps up in intensity. Zoro’s blood is rushing, matching the movement of Sanji’s body with his own even while his mind is rushing with a thousand different thoughts. They fight. They yell. And Zoro still hasn’t worked out why Sanji needs to touch him.

His world is straightforward. Streamlined. If he wants to drink, he drinks. If he wants to be stronger, he trains. If he sees a problem, he decides if he wants to deal with it or not. Usually the answer is no but this time he does, and he’s not going to stop until he has his answer.

It doesn’t help that he can’t understand Sanji’s motivation, not really.

For him, touch is violent. Touch is a means to an often grisly end. If he’s hurt, Chopper will patch him. If someone else is hurt, he’ll carry them. It isn’t something he looks for, seeks out, or needs.

But Sanji needs it.

So Zoro’s thought of this, as a way to help out a member of the crew. When he’d bumped Sanji out of his way to get to the crow’s nest, he’d expected the kicks that came at him, but he hadn’t grabbed his swords. There’s more actual contact, exchange of heat instead of impersonal steel, and the effect is almost instantaneous. Sanji’s attacks increase. They linger after contact is made.

But something still isn’t _right._

There’s still an edge to each of Sanji’s movements and when they finally pull apart Sanji’s shoulders are still tense, not loose and relaxed the way they should be. Sanji still feels the need to brush their arms together when setting a bowl down at dinner.

Sanji still needs something, Zoro just can’t figure out _what._

\-------

“Gomu Gomu no Jet Pistol!”

Sounds of chaos and destruction echo through the harbor: gunshots and shouted commands, screams of pain, the crunch of bone and wet slide of metal through flesh. It makes Zoro come alive.

His blades have had a taste of carnage and are hungry for more; they sing in his grip and cry out for the next victim, the next swath of enemies he cuts down in a single move.

A headstrong group of bounty hunters had tried to lay claim to their captain’s head. Ambitious. Out of their league. A fatal mistake. Zoro watches as confidence fades to determination and disbelief, then finally to the smoldering fire of a dead man walking.

That look never lasts long, the turnaround from realization to glassy-eyed death too quick to let it linger.

But he doesn’t dwell on that. After weeks of training he can finally see the fruits of his labor. His muscles work, his movements swift and efficient, every inch of him an instrument of destruction. It feels good to let instinct guide him, trusts his body and his training with the brunt of the work and catches Sanji fighting from the corner of his eye.

He still hasn’t figured out why Sanji needs to touch him.

It frustrates him, and the spark of anger leads to a particularly forceful stab into his latest opponent’s gut, blood dripping hot over his hand where Shusui is buried to the hilt.

He pulls the blade free with ease and the man drops to the ground, creating a puddle on the ground that adds to the mixture of blood and dust already accumulating beneath his feet. But his mind is clearer, and as he slips back into the rush of battle his thoughts begin to fall into place.

Violence is a tool. It is a means to an end. He can kill. He can protect. He can find anger and peace and joy with the simplest of actions.

For Sanji touch is similarly complex.

His touch can be violent and deadly or flirtatious and soft. He can fill it with anger or indifference or affection. He puts special weight on touch that isn’t needed, the frivolous things. And his hands, like always, seem to hold the most meaning of all.

Another man falls to Shusui’s razor edge and Zoro slides Wado and Sandai Kitetsu back into their sheaths. There aren’t many opponents left to fight and Zoro finds his interest waning. He looks back to Sanji and tilts his head, watches as polished black shoes crack skulls and come to land gracefully back on the ground.

Despite his best efforts, Sanji’s still dappled in blood, shoes and pant legs soaked in it. It pools at his feet and runs in rivers from the men he’s killed.

A cigarette hangs from between his lips and his posture exudes an air of nonchalance, the only outward emotion a slight regret for the state of his suit. But Zoro can see past it easily. He can see the fading excitement underneath, the unmistakable satisfaction from a chance to use his strength.

Smoke rises into the air on Sanji’s next exhale and he taps his foot on the ground, eyes lifting to take in the next of his opponents. A predator calmly stalking its prey.

Zoro’s always seen Sanji as a monster like himself—not afraid to kill and stain the world red, someone strong who he can depend on to take care of the crew. As Zoro grows in strength, Sanji has always grown right alongside him.

The world sees the polished exterior, the cook, but Zoro has always ignored the pretenses and showmanship, dug straight to the core of the man he’s fought with and alongside. He’s always been more concerned with the wolf itself rather than the clothing it wears. But now he finds himself wondering.

Maybe he’s been missing something all along.

\-------

Skin damp and warm from his bath, Zoro steps out onto the deck. He can hear the clanking of tableware and the smell of food has already drifted out of the kitchen, all good signs that dinner’s nearly ready.

His muscles are pleasantly sore from the earlier fight and he’s already itching to train, can’t wait for the intoxicating burn that comes from gaining strength and pushing himself to the limit. His swords are at his side and the sky is clear overhead; he couldn’t wish for a better evening.

Especially not when they’re all called for dinner and he finds Sanji’s usual array of dishes, plus a plate full of onigiri near his side of the table. He stuffs two of them in his mouth as soon as he sits and puts even more on his plate, knows he has to act fast before the rest of the crew descends. Sanji catches him in the act and gives him a look, one that Zoro pointedly ignores, especially when he sees how Sanji’s eyes zero in on the dampness of Zoro’s hair then trace down the lines of his shoulders to his forearms and hands— checking for blood, the bastard.

Show up for dinner without washing _one time_ and suddenly he’s required to clean off immediately after every fight. The blood and grime’s never bothered him, but apparently it’s distasteful to the cook, something about ruining everyone else’s appetite.

Regardless, he ignores Sanji’s eyes and stuffs himself with whatever he can reach. He’s clean so it’s not like the curly-brow can say anything anyway.

It doesn’t take long before the table’s been picked clean and the sun is sinking low on the horizon, gauzy clouds blowing in from distant shores and making the sky go from blue to grey. The crew drifts off to their different evening distractions.

Zoro sits in the soft light of the library and polishes his swords. He’d cleaned them immediately after getting back on board, but hadn’t been able to take the time he would’ve liked. Robin’s tucked away in the corner pouring over some old book and they sit in calm silence as they work.

His mind wanders with the movements of his hands, his favorite kind of meditation. When he finally pushes back out onto deck the air is crisp and clear and a steely determination has settled in his gut.

His first tactic hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped, but he’s learned from the experience; he’s observed his target and found new avenues of attack. Starting now, as he walks into the kitchen and Sanji looks up from his work, sighs and reaches into the nearby cupboard.

“I’d rather you didn’t ruin my pantry,” Sanji says, then fishes out a bottle and holds it in Zoro’s direction. “Here. Now get out of my kitchen, I have work to do.”

Zoro reaches for the bottle, but instead of carefully grabbing it by the bottom half so their fingers don’t so much as brush, he wraps his fingers around the middle, subsequently covering nearly half of Sanji’s hand with his own.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changes, Sanji’s eyes snapping to Zoro’s face and narrowing. But Zoro isn’t joking around and Sanji’s look melts into something more confused than angry.

“What the hell,” he says. “Are you already drunk?”

Zoro grabs the bottle away and pops the top, takes a few generous swallows and ignores the offended posturing Sanji is making across the counter. “No,” he says. He fills the word with as much judgment as possible, but not enough condescension to get Sanji fighting. Because it _had_ been a stupid question, Sanji’s seen Zoro down entire barrels without batting an eye, but the point of this isn’t to get in an argument.

Sanji just keeps staring, obviously unsure of this new sort of interaction. Zoro figures he’ll get used to it in time. He’s just got to keep his plan in action.

And that’s exactly what he does.

Zoro starts touching Sanji more, stupid casual things the way the cook seems to like. They still fight and spar and Sanji still occasionally bumps him at the table, but now Zoro’s reciprocating. Luffy does it, clings to everyone in the crew like some kind of oversized monkey. Franky will clap people on the shoulder; Chopper will subject them to random physical examinations. He figures it shouldn’t be too hard to just mimic what he’s seen other people do.

He passes Sanji in the hall and casually bumps shoulders. Except the other man hadn’t been expecting it and Zoro nearly knocks him into the wall. It’s a miscalculation of strength that leads to a fight, Sanji yelling and Zoro not backing down, devolving into blades and limbs knocking together in the limited space.

His subsequent attempts are less disastrous; he moves slower, puts less force behind the gesture. Sanji’s taken to eyeing him cautiously whenever they get close.

Zoro considers it progress, and the next time they land and end up packed into a bar he sits next to Sanji, close enough that their knees knock together and their arms brush whenever they move. Through the course of the evening Zoro ends up elbowing Sanji a good number of times.

The whole situation is extremely uncomfortable and Zoro has no idea why Sanji would want something like this.

But apparently this is what he needs, so he goes with it. And Sanji hasn’t told him to stop, just keeps staring at him like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Zoro’s found a number of emotions in his face: frustration, confusion, worry, exasperation. He doesn’t know what to do with any of them. They aren’t the contentment that he wants.

He resolves to keep trying.

It isn’t until he nearly makes Sanji drop a bowl of marinating squid that Sanji finally snaps. The kitchen goes eerily still in the aftermath of the mistimed nudge against Sanji’s side then the refrigerator door clicks shuts with an echoing finality.

Sanji’s hands open and close at his sides, he takes a deep drag of his cigarette, and then he spins around and glares in Zoro’s direction.

“What the fuck is with you?”

Zoro stares back. “Nothing.”

“Like hell,” Sanji glowers, ashing his cigarette before sticking it back between his teeth. “What the fuck has been with you lately? If you’re trying to start a fight, you’ve done better.”

“I wasn’t trying to start a fight,” Zoro says back, brow furrowed because this isn’t going at all to plan.

Sanji’s eyebrow twitches, “Then what the fuck _were_ you doing?”

“You need to touch people, I was trying to touch you back,” Zoro explains. “I thought it would help.”

Sanji’s posture changes immediately, goes from drawn up and tensed for a fight to something much more off balance. “What?”

“You touch people. You’ve always done it, but you’ve done it more since Sabaody.” Zoro shrugs and leans against the countertop. “It’s something you need, but I don’t know how to help you with it.”

Sanji keeps staring, cigarette half hanging out of his mouth and curly brow raised to the top of his forehead.

“Maybe we should ask Robin,” Zoro muses.

That, at least, gets Sanji moving. “No, no need to get the ladies involved. Or anyone else. Or yourself,” he gains steam as he goes and then ends up yelling. “What the hell is even happening?”

Zoro nods. He understands why Sanji would want to keep this to himself— Zoro himself still refuses to address the missing eye. They all have their secrets, their need for privacy on this small ship.

“I don’t know,” Zoro says. “You know what you need, so take care of it. I won’t stop you.”

Their eyes meet and he knows Sanji’s understood him. He’s done what he can for the evening and shrugs away from the counter, walks over to the cupboard and digs out a bottle before bringing it to his lips.

His footsteps are loud on the hardwood and the silence stretches between them as he leaves Sanji to his thoughts. There’s enough time in the day that he can train until he’s tired enough to sleep.

“Fucking marimo,” he hears as he saunters out the door. “Don’t steal from my kitchen!”

Zoro smirks and takes another drink.

_Stupid dartbrow._

\-------

Waves lap against the side of the Thousand Sunny as she cuts peacefully through the water. Usopp and Brook are fishing off the back of the boat and Franky is entertaining Chopper with some of his poses and robot impersonations. Luffy’s on top of the figurehead staring out across the sea, hat swaying slightly from the cord around his neck as he looks for their next adventure. The girls are somewhere below deck and Sanji’s been finishing cleaning up from lunch.

He strolls out onto the deck now, hair glowing gold in the sunlight and grabbing Zoro’s attention from his spot in the crow’s nest. Weight in hand, he watches as the other man heads briefly for the rail, leaning over and stealing a moment of peace before checking on Usopp and Brook and the fish they’ve caught for dinner.

The line of his shoulders is softer and he takes a lingering drag on his cigarette, smoke drifting up past Zoro’s window. He looks better, more relaxed, even if only slightly.

Over the past few days Sanji’s slowly begun to test the new, outright permission Zoro gave him to take what he needs. There are more casual touches during dinner or in the hall, an increase in the actions Sanji’s already comfortable with before he branches out.

He’s touched Zoro’s shoulder once. Pressed his thumb into the muscle there and not let go for a few tense seconds. Zoro hadn’t minded but it’d been obvious that Sanji wasn’t so sure. Understandable, considering their past.

They showed their camaraderie through violence. They veiled any type of caring with harsh words and raised voices. It had worked for them, _still_ works for them, but now they were adding something new. Like a new exercise in training, something to make them stronger in a different way.

Zoro’s still working on trying to understand. To rationalize.

He wakes up one night to Sanji touching his arm as he gets up to get dressed, shadowed in the half-light and moving quietly across the room. The touch lingers on his arm in the contrast of warm fingers and cool air. But it lingers in his mind as well.

A sluggish sense of déjà vu passes over him and he’s snapped back to a night almost a month ago. He’s struck again with how much Sanji needs this, needs _him_ for some reason Zoro still hasn’t quite worked out. He props himself up on an elbow and reaches out, grabs Sanji’s arm and squeezes.

Sanji turns back to him in surprise. The movement is obviously unexpected and Zoro hasn’t worked that out either. Sanji’s got a spot in Zoro’s life. He’s important. Sanji himself just hasn’t seemed to realize it yet.

They watch each other quietly in the dark, Sanji’s eyes studying him carefully and Zoro staring right back until a yawn breaks them apart. Zoro’s fingers are still wrapped around Sanji’s forearm and he hasn’t had time to put his jacket on yet, so Zoro can feel his bare skin against his palm, smooth against the pads of his fingers as Sanji carefully pulls away.

“Go back to sleep, stupid marimo,” Sanji whispers. His touch is gentle as he pushes stray hairs from Zoro’s forehead, fingertips warm against Zoro’s temple as he drops quietly off to sleep.

\-------

Days melt into weeks. Currents push them forward and the sun rises and sets; time goes on.

Slowly, Zoro and Sanji learn to adjust to their new dynamic, to get used to the touching and the way they move with and around one another. They can sit close or coexist without killing each other. It generally means no talking, just a careful silence as skin presses to skin or a kind of mutually promised denial as their knees touch beneath the table. It’s not perfect, but it works.

Days melt into weeks; time goes on.

Sanji starts to stay up a bit later to sit in the crow’s nest while Zoro lifts, stars twinkling overhead in the misty darkness. They talk in short conversations or without words. Zoro likes it like this; it’s peaceful. And sometimes, if it’s not too late and Sanji is in the mood, they’ll spar. It usually starts with a half-assed argument, a small dig so they can pretend they’re not actually having fun. But neither of them is blind to the truth, sharing knowing looks between blows, silent jokes on deck that no one else can catch.

Zoro still wakes up to Sanji touching his arm in the morning.

It’s usually only an hour after he’s gone to sleep and he knows Sanji tries to be gentle, tries to be quiet and let Zoro sleep. But Zoro doesn't sleep through touch. If he feels safe he can sleep through just about anything else, but not touch. That’s too personal, too close.

His eye cracks open and he stares blearily up at Sanji’s face, slides his gaze to his lips to watch them whisper the words, “Go back to sleep, stupid marimo.”

Days melt into weeks; time goes on.

Sanji touches his arm and Zoro stops bothering to open his eye, just listens for those quiet words to send him drifting back under.

Then the day comes when he opens his eye and finds it morning, the sound of Luffy shouting for breakfast ringing around the ship. He realizes he’s slept through the night. And unless Sanji’s suddenly broken a habit he’s been doing for over a month, he’s slept through Sanji touching him as well. He doesn’t know what to think of that. So he doesn’t.

So long as he still wakes up when other people touch him, it’s not the worst thing in the world. He trusts the curly brow.

Trusts him enough that a few days later when he wants to take a nap and rain is pouring down outside, he finds his way into the kitchen. Sanji looks up from where he’s working at the stove and watches as Zoro takes a seat on the floor against one of the cupboards. It’s not as good as the foremast, but it’ll do.

He can smell the smoke from Sanji’s cigarette and the strong scent of whatever’s on the stove. It’s soothing.

He shuts his eye and crosses his arms and nods off until Sanji wakes him when it’s time for lunch.

It works. _They_ work.

Time goes on.

\-------

“We’re going to die!” Nami screeches, barreling down the narrow tunnel with a cloud of dust in her wake. There’s a giant boulder threatening to run them over and Luffy’s laughing as he runs along.

Knowing the captain, he’s probably thinking of trying to punch it.

“Don't even think about it, you idiot,” Nami yells, obviously having the same idea. “Both of you, don’t touch anything else. Just don’t do anything but run! Do you hear me!?”

Zoro’s face twinges at the command. “Don’t lump me in with him,” he shouts back. “I don’t take orders from you!”

“Shut your trap,” Nami snaps, slowing enough to get in his face. “I don’t want to die here, so run!”

The boulder rumbles ominously behind them and they all pick up the pace, screeching around a sharp turn and nearly toppling over when their rocky pursuer hits the wall and makes the entire cave shake. Pebbles drop from the ceiling and bounce down the walls to the ground and Nami looks ready to bolt again.

“Shishishi, that was fun!” Luffy grins. The smile on his face doesn’t falter even when Nami smacks him upside the head.

“Fun? Getting treasure is fun,” she holds her hands out, fingers tight like she wants to wrap them around his neck. “Nearly dying because you can’t keep your rubber hands to yourself isn’t!”

Luffy grumbles quietly at the rebuke, but his eyes are already shifting around the walls of the cave, no doubt looking for the next thing to explore.

They’re separated from the rest of the crew because they’d caught wind of a supposed treasure in a mountain cave. Luffy had jumped at the chance for an adventure, Nami wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for gold, and Zoro had been enlisted to go along with them. And like most times the crew has to split up, Zoro and Sanji have been split up as well.

While Zoro slogs through the jungle and damp, narrow caves, bored out of his mind with no one to fight and no real way to train, Sanji is back with the crew to protect them and the ship and resupply with what they can scavenge from the small island. Something in his chest twinges at the thought. It isn’t jealousy, but it’s something insidious and bitter, lingering in his thoughts as they continue on through the twisting caves.

Before long they’re all cold and damp from being dropped in an underwater river, clothes dripping and bodies shivering in the cool air. Their torch had been doused so they’re going by the light from Nami’s staff and their instincts. Well, Zoro’s instincts, since Luffy’s seem to be taking the day off.

He keeps them from walking over ledges and walking into spikes, but he still can’t keep Luffy from tripping over wires and knocking into triggers in the walls. They nearly get skewered, crushed, stabbed, chopped, and otherwise sent to their deaths on multiple occasions. He wants to just slice his way through the damn place but Nami won’t let him, punching him in the head when he suggests the idea and yelling about rock slides and unstable ground and making the cave collapse.

The sea witch may have a point, he comes to find, when he cuts through one of the spikes standing in their way and the whole place rumbles. She glares at him knowingly. He doesn’t say a word, but sheaths his sword and resolves to use the dull edge for the rest of the trip.

He misses Sanji.

The cook would keep Nami busy and placated. He’d be someone for Zoro to fight and distract himself with. That strange feeling returns to his chest and Zoro grumbles and shrugs it off, not willing to distract himself when Luffy’s just nearly avoided getting himself impaled.

It isn’t until Luffy sets off what has to be the hundredth trap that it hits him.

He _misses_ Sanji.

He misses his smart mouth and stupid curly brows. He misses their quiet conversations.

He misses Sanji’s touch.

It’s become a regular part of his day, part of his routine, and he’s feeling strangely off center now that it’s gone. He’s not sure what to think of that. Not sure if he likes the development. This was supposed to be helping with Sanji’s needs, not creating more for himself.

“Finally,” Nami cries, pulling him from his thoughts. She’s a few steps ahead of Zoro, but behind Luffy, ready to grab their captain by the ear should the need arise. Which is what she does as soon as what she’s seen catches his eye, a small wooden chest on top of a pedestal. There’s a large cavern in front of them and the pedestal is at its center, ringed with dusty old steps.

There are probably traps, but Zoro can’t see them. Nami keeps a firm hold on Luffy’s ear but that’s never been enough to stop him; his hand reaches out and out and before long he’s grabbed the chest and flung it back towards them, knocking them all into the cave wall in a heap.

“You idiot!” Nami growls, no doubt ready to smack him upside the head again when an ominous shudder runs through the ground. Her eyes get wide and she clutches the chest tight to her side before scrambling to her feet. They all set off at a run as the first rock comes crashing down from the ceiling.

Luffy’s laughing like a maniac, holding onto his hat with one hand as he runs and jumps over any obstacles in his way. Zoro’s taking up the back and keeping an eye on both of them, hand on the hilts of his swords and ready to fight. And it’s a good thing he’s ready, since Luffy still manages to set off every trap in the damn place on their way out.

They emerge somewhere on the side of the mountain, disheveled but ultimately no worse for the ware. Nami has her precious treasure and Luffy still has his head. Zoro just wants to get back to the ship.

“We did it!” Luffy shouts, voice echoing above the forest. He flings his arms up in celebration and a small click reverberates in the silence around them.

Zoro barely has time to spit out a curse before a pile of rocks comes tumbling down the side of the mountain and takes out the bit of path they were standing on. Swept down the side of the incline, Zoro manages to get a hold of Nami’s arm and pull her into his chest, holding on until Luffy grabs for them the way Zoro knows he will.

Sure enough it hardly takes a minute before he feels an arm snake around his middle and he’s yanked through the air, hitting tree branches and what he’s pretty sure is a bird before landing with a thud in a small clearing at the base of the mountain. He groans at the impact then sits up and grabs Luffy’s ear, yanking him down to yell.

“Did you have to set off every trap in the damn place?” His voice is harsh but honestly he’s not that mad. He’s more exasperated than anything. He respects the captain, would follow him anywhere; this is one of the tamer of their adventures.

Nami stands and yells, “You’re both idiots! Now let’s get back before you two do something else stupid.”

Zoro shoots her a glare, but she’s not looking at him, fully focused on getting Luffy moving and out of trouble. The lack of a bump on his head is her personal thank you for not getting crushed by the rocks, and maybe some sympathy for the various scratches and bruises already on his body. He notices she’s treating Luffy a little more gently than usual as well. She’s almost doting and it’s enough to make Zoro cringe, and to have the twinge in his chest flaring up again when he imagines the jealous look on Sanji’s face.

They make it back to the ship without further incident and are greeted by the crew who are all excited to hear about the treasure and set sail again. Zoro and Sanji find each other’s eyes across the deck and share a silent confirmation that everything’s okay, no catastrophes on either side. But the moment doesn’t last long, Sanji pulled away to fill Luffy’s demand for a feast to rehash the adventure.

No sooner does the cook disappear than a foreboding shiver runs down Zoro’s spine; he glances over to see Chopper’s eyes on him.

“Zoro,” the little reindeer asks innocently. “What’s that on your arm?”

Zoro looks down and sees a large scrape still slowly oozing blood. “It’s nothing,” he says. Because it isn’t, not really. He’s had far worse.

“It’s from the rockslide,” Luffy crows over the top of Zoro, jumping up and down across the deck. “But I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.”

Something glints in Chopper’s eyes and Zoro has a split second to think _oh fuck_ before a sharp whack to the head sends him tumbling to the ground.

\-------

His awareness comes back slowly then all at once. The ship rocks beneath him and the smell of cigarette smoke fills his senses.

_Sanji._

His eye opens and he stares up at the ceiling of the bunkroom.

“About time,” he hears.

He turns his head and glares at the man beside him, stretched out in a chair from the kitchen with his shirt pushed up at the sleeves. His suit jacket is slung over the foot of Zoro’s bed and Zoro would kick it to the floor if he felt the motivation.

His body is sore but not unduly so and he has a moment to wonder why he’s here before memories start coming back. “Chopper,” he growls, shaking his head and moving to sit up. A hand on his chest stops him.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Sanji drawls. “He’s just doing his job. It’s not like we make it easy.”

Zoro grunts at that. He sits up anyway but he doesn’t try to leave, runs a hand through his hair and lets the sight of his swords propped against the foot of bed calm his nerves. They’re right beside Sanji’s jacket and the sight somehow calms him even more.

“He’s with Luffy right now, trying to keep him in the infirmary,” Sanji says, not even flinching when a timely crash echoes from the aforementioned room. “I got put on marimo duty.”

Zoro bristles at the comment, about to snap back about not needing a babysitter, but a hand on his arm stops him. Sanji’s palm is warm against his bicep, long fingers curving around the muscle. His thumb brushes over Zoro’s skin.

He knows it’s just affection, a reassurance, not so different from the simple touches they shared before, but it makes something in Zoro’s stomach knot. His whole body tenses.

Blue eyes flick to his face and read the emotions there, seeing through him so easily it makes Zoro tense even more. He can’t unravel everything he’s feeling and it shouldn’t be possible for Sanji to do so effortlessly.

“What’s your problem, marimo?” Sanji asks. There’s a knowing edge to his eyes that Zoro doesn’t like.

Years of training kick in and Zoro stares at the far wall, arms crossed and face impassive. “Nothing,” he says. He’s learned the best way to deal with emotions is to push them away, force them so far down that even he can’t be bothered by them. He’s a warrior; he’s a man; he shouldn’t be bothered by the warmth in his chest and the knots in his stomach.

Sanji isn’t impressed.

“So you’re just going to run away?” he asks, voice low. The air is tense between them, Sanji’s body coiled like a spring before he stands and gets in Zoro’s space. “What kind of crap is that?”

“I’m not running away,” Zoro growls back.

“The hell you aren’t!” Sanji snaps. “Running away like a fucking _coward_.” He spits the last word and Zoro shoots to his feet, reaching for his swords.

They meet in a crash of steel and leather and Zoro grunts at the pain that burns across his body. His feet slide a few inches before he grits his teeth and pushes through the sensation, gaining back the ground he’s lost.

“I’m not running away,” Zoro growls again.

“Then what the hell happened?” Sanji pushes back, throwing another kick at Zoro’s head that gets blocked and caught in the cross of Zoro’s swords.

The hilts are warm in his hands and Zoro’s fingers clench around them. “I fucking missed all the touching, that’s what happened!” He finally explodes. “That’s weakness and that’s not _fucking_ okay.”

They break apart in a rush of movement, metal hissing and floor clattering with the sudden shift in balance. They pant into the open space between them.

Sanji goes for him again, enough power to send him flying through the wall if Zoro wasn’t ready. His muscles strain at the force.

“Am I weak?” Sanji hisses. He draws back and throws another kick towards Zoro’s side. “Am I weak, you idiot?”

Zoro catches the blow and deflects it to the side, catching the next one and holding strong against the strength behind it. “No, you fucking moron,” he growls. “Listen to what I’m saying. _I-_ “

“You’re the moron!” Sanji shouts, cutting him off. “ _You_ listen to what you’re saying, and how stupid it is.”

They glare at each other from mere centimeters away, anger crackling sharp in the air around them. Zoro’s mind is spinning, thrown into even more confusion that only gets worse when Sanji pulls away and stalks to the door, growling a last, “Think about it,” before slamming the door behind him.

Zoro stares at the empty space and feels the warmth in his chest turn into something painful and twisted. They always fight through their problems; he doesn’t understand why Sanji won’t do it now.

And he knows Sanji isn’t weak. He wouldn’t fight with him if he were worried about hurting the other man. Sanji knows that. And he hadn’t been calling Sanji weak; he’d called himself weak. Sanji has to know that too.

Zoro sheaths his swords and sets them back against the bed, eyeing the jacket Sanji left there as he picks off his bandages and gets dressed. His wounds are fine and allowing them to heal on their own will only make him stronger. It won’t pay to get his body used to bandages and protection.

His swords slide easily into their place at his side and he’s left staring down at Sanji’s jacket. With a huff he picks it up and folds it, places it carefully on Sanji’s own bed.

The deck is warm and quiet when he steps outside, carefully avoiding anyone who would rat him out to Chopper as he climbs up to the crow’s nest. He needs to train more, become stronger.

He feels like he’s losing control.

\-------

Sweat drips down his shoulders and back, stinging the open scratches there and making each pull of muscle just this side of unpleasant. Chopper usually keeps him from training after a day like this, but the doctor’s too caught up with Luffy to do much to stop him. So he’s here, trying to work through thoughts and feelings with each flex of muscle.

He’s not having much success.

And that only spurs him on harder, frustrated with the inability to combat his problems head on. He could ask Sanji to explain, but he has a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. And he wants to figure this out himself. He feels like it’s important.

By the time he’s finished, the skin on his back feels like it’s on fire. He’s not sure what it looks like, but based on the mess of bandages Chopper tried to constrict him with it has to be pretty unpleasant. He can feel some bruises, some scratches, and now the irritation from sun and sweat. He wants to throw on a shirt and find somewhere quiet to take a nap, but as soon as he drops the last few feet to the deck he’s met with Sanji’s piercing stare.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says.

Zoro glares back and pushes past him, not in the mood to deal with an argument he doesn’t understand. But Sanji turns with him, reaches out and grabs his bicep.

“Take a bath or I’m telling Chopper what you’ve done to your back.”

The threat settles heavy between them and Zoro tugs his arm away, stalking towards the bathroom with a steady stream of curses flying from his lips. A bath won’t kill him and if it’ll get Sanji and the doctor off his back then it’ll be more than worth it.

Stripping down, he sets his swords down on top of his pile of clothes then stretches his arms up above his head, feels the pull of muscle and healing skin. He rinses off quickly and contemplates just stopping there and lying about the bath, but then he hears the door open and someone knock pointlessly at the frame.

Sanji’s leaning there with an easy slant to his shoulders and a cigarette hanging from his fingers. “Thought you might need help with your back,” he says.

Zoro grunts and rubs water from his hair, “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Sanji matches his voice to Zoro’s, uninflected and immutable. He steps closer and warm fingertips trace up Zoro’s spine. “You’re bleeding again and if Chopper sees you…”

He leaves the possibilities swirling bitter in the back of Zoro’s mind and urges him towards the tub. Zoro goes without much resistance. The water is warm and comfortable, already drawn from earlier in the day. It laps against his chest as he settles, leaned forward slightly so his back isn’t touching the edges of the tub. Sanji quietly undresses behind him then slips into the water at his side.

“Turn around,” he says, one hand on Zoro’s shoulder to guide the movement.

Zoro turns, the heat of the water sapping all of the fight left in him. He’s sore and confused and Sanji is right there _touching_ him again.

The first few minutes are spent in awkward silence, just the sound of the water moving between them and the careful movements of Sanji’s hands against his back. It’s like they’ve gone back in time. Zoro misses the easy relationship they’d come to have, the way they could just _be—_ without the tension that’s now seeping in the cracks.

He drops his head down into his hands and rubs at his forehead, realizing the tightness in his shoulders, the pain in his temples and the contrast of his tense frame to Sanji’s gentle touches. He’s the one fucking this up, the one driving a wedge between them.

He huffs out a breath in defeat and relaxes back into Sanji’s hands. Because Sanji was right— he isn’t weak for wanting touch, so maybe Zoro isn’t either.

The peace he feels from the revelation, from the acceptance, is something he’s rarely felt even in his years of meditation. It frees the tension from his shoulders and his whole body feels lighter.

Sanji seems to feel the shift and continues to wash him quietly, rinsing his back before moving to his shoulders and sides, tending to the scrapes there with the same deliberate care. Eye slipping closed, Zoro lets his head droop forward and hums softly when Sanji rubs at his neck.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he feels Sanji’s hands leave him. He looks back over his shoulder and the air seems suddenly heavier; his throat clicks when he swallows.

That warmth has returned to his chest and he can feel it spreading, clouding his mind and making everything hazy as Sanji’s hand curves around his neck.

“Sanji,” he says, voice low. They’re closer than he remembers, Sanji’s face inches away and space warm between them. “What do you want?” he asks, desperate to understand, to close the last small gap between them. “What do you need?”

Sanji’s fingers clench, white blooming where they press into Zoro’s skin. His breathing shallows and Zoro’s suddenly struck with the curve of his mouth, the set of his lips and the line of his throat. “Zoro,” he breathes, voice sounding different than anything Zoro’s ever heard before. It makes his chest flush hot and his thoughts turn to lead. “I-“

“It hurts!!” The door bangs open and Luffy bursts into the room, shouting and flailing around on the tile. His arms are a nasty red color and he doesn’t spare a glance to Zoro or Sanji as he races over and dunks them in the water.

Eyes widening, both men quickly jump out of the tub and head for the showers, rinsing off just in time for Usopp to come storming into the room.

“Luffy you idiot! Water’s just going to make it worse,” He looks more frustrated than panicked, a good sign for the rest of their evening. “You have to use flour! Flour!”

Heaving a sigh, Sanji starts getting dressed. “I’ll go get some ready.” He lights a cigarette on the way out the door and takes a long draw, meeting Zoro’s eye. “Cover your back before Chopper sees.”

And then he’s gone—along with the last of Zoro’s sanity.

\-------

“Thanks, Sanji. This looks _super_ delicious!” There’s a glass of some kind of fruity drink in Franky’s hand and Sanji gives a nonchalant grin at the compliment.

It’s another hot day on the Thousand Sunny and they have plenty of fresh fruit to go around. Sanji makes it look easy, makes it look like an offhand gesture or a simple task, but Zoro knows now how much effort he puts into even something as seemingly simple as a round of drinks. Each one is meticulously made to suit the taste of whoever it’s for. Each berry is carefully sliced, each fruit painstakingly peeled and seeded and juiced or pureed.

Sanji has a way of making things look easy. He goes about his business with smoke curling from his lips and his suit never wrinkled. Never a hair out of place.

Zoro keeps his eye mostly closed as he watches Sanji flit about, moving from crewmember to crewmember and handing out drinks. He’s leant against the foremast with his arms folded in front of him, swords propped up at his side within easy reach. This same scene has replayed itself countless times onboard both the Going Merry and Thousand Sunny, but Zoro is just now appreciating what goes into it.

Sanji doesn’t just appear from the kitchen with a plate of drinks to dole out; he spends time perfecting each one. The girls get their special drinks, of course, but the men all have their own too—even if Sanji isn’t as obvious about it. So when Sanji walks over with just one drink left on the tray, crouches down and presses it to Zoro’s temple, Zoro doesn’t growl and snatch it away like he used to. He reaches out and takes it quietly, lets their fingers brush on the hand off and forces himself not to watch as Sanji walks away.

Ice clinks in the glass and Zoro spins it around slowly, watches it swirl and sink in the pinkish-orange liquid. His drink is noticeably more tart than it is sweet, probably in consideration for his dislike of sweet things. It’s Sanji’s way of keeping him hydrated with something other than booze.

It’s the same way he slips vitamins into Chopper’s sweets, or extra nutrients into the sauces and flavorings to Luffy’s meat. He keeps them all healthy, ready to fight and adventure and do whatever else comes their way. As a cook, as a fighter, and as a man: Sanji’s important to the crew.

They gain strength from each other in ways like that, it’s what makes them a crew, what makes them nakama. There isn’t anything wrong with using affection in that way as well.

He doesn’t need it the same way Sanji does, doesn’t have a fierce desire to dote and pamper and touch, but he can understand and appreciate it. He can admit that he might need it in a different way, that he can find strength in the easy affection Sanji gives.

Sanji reappears from the kitchen with his own drink in hand and goes to stand beside Usopp at the rail. There’re a couple of lines in the water and they’ve had a few bites throughout the day, but it’s mostly a distraction, a way to pass the time. The waves roll on beside the boat and the sun is a bright ball in the endless blue sky, a thin swath of clouds far off on the horizon.

Sanji’s hair glints golden and Zoro takes another drink, swallows thickly as Sanji leans his hip on the rail and crosses his legs. Those powerful thighs momentarily steal Zoro’s attention and he’s reminded of a predator lying hidden in wait; those polished shoes have been covered in blood more times than he can count and it makes his heart pound faster.

His mind drifts and wanders and he finds himself wondering if Sanji wants more, would want more with _him._ If it could even be a possibility.

The images that flash through his mind at the thought are enough to keep him distracted for days.

\-------

“You’re not getting any alcohol right now,” Sanji says, back to the door as he stacks dishes into the shelves.

The kitchen is quiet in the hours between breakfast and lunch; the stovetop is cool and the refrigerator is firmly shut. This is usually when Sanji is most relaxed, when he takes care of a few odd jobs before doing whatever else strikes his fancy. From the looks of the place he’s nearly done with what he feels _needs_ doing, an observation that’s only confirmed when Sanji shuts the cabinet doors and turns.

“Unless there’s something else I can help you with.” He says it through a breath of smoke, eyebrow lifted ever so slightly as he watches Zoro from across the room.

That eyebrow lifts higher when Zoro stares back, then furrows when Zoro leaves the neutral space of the doorway and heads straight for Sanji, a determined look on his face.

“Marimo?” he asks, cigarette switched from his mouth to his fingers. “What are you—“

His lips are warm against Zoro’s mouth, chapped and perfect. Zoro’s hands are awkwardly placed, not sure where to touch or what to do but sure in their desire to do _something._ He presses further into Sanji’s space and lets out a pleased sound when Sanji finally starts to kiss him back, a sound that quickly turns into a growl as long fingers thread into his hair and pull.

Head twisted to the side, his lips part and Sanji’s on him in an instant, biting and licking and sucking in ways that make Zoro’s mind blank. The cigarette is unceremoniously dropped into the sink and Sanji’s other hand goes to Zoro’s face, cupping his jaw and guiding the flow of the kiss as Zoro’s hands clamp around Sanji’s waist. There’s a loud bang as Sanji’s back hits the cupboards but it’s quickly covered by the low groan that escapes Zoro’s mouth, fingers twitching where they’re twisted in pressed fabric.

Not one to be outdone, Sanji pushes back. His hands are incessant and his mouth is a sin and before Zoro fully knows what’s happening his back finds the wall with a solid thud. The hand against this face slips to his chest then down to his waist, fingers slipping under his shirt and tugging him closer by the small of his back. A broad palm presses up his spine and he shudders at the feeling of tingling warmth and lingering pain, huffs into Sanji’s mouth before the rest of the air is stolen from his lungs with one clever twist of fingers in his hair. Zoro groans again, low and a little too desperate for his liking, but Sanji moans in return, bites at Zoro’s lower lip before trailing kisses all the way up his jaw. Then he pulls back, leaves Zoro feeling strangely cold in all of the places he’s touched.

“Zoro,” he starts, catching Zoro’s eye before continuing. “Why?”

The question is more than Zoro knows what to do with, something he doesn’t fully know the answer to himself. But he wants to know. He wants to find out with Sanji and this thing growing between them. So he asks his own question instead.

“Do you want this?”

Something crosses over Sanji’s face and he pulls back a little more. “What?” he asks. “Zoro, that’s not how this is supposed to—“

“Do you want this?” Zoro cuts him off, voice firm and hands still tight on Sanji’s waist, not letting go. He tries to concentrate into putting everything he’s feeling to the forefront of his mind, hopes Sanji can read it in his eye the way he’s done so many times before.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling completely, doesn’t know what to say, but maybe Sanji will.

Sanji stares back; his face softens. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His hand returns to the side of Zoro’s face and this time when their lips meet it’s less of a frantic battle and more of an easy push and pull. Sanji’s hands are warm where they touch him and that pleasant heat has returned to his chest.

It feels like he’s falling, but he’s not afraid to let go.

\-------

The ship is as dark as the sky outside; lights extinguished save for a single glow above the stove. The rest of the crew is asleep, rocked by the waves and pulled further into their dreams.

Zoro’s used to the peaceful solitude the early hours bring, but Sanji is new to late nights. He only stays up if he wants the bit of extra privacy they bring. Like now, when he has Zoro pushed up against the fridge.

His shirt is rucked halfway up his chest and one of Sanji’s hands is rubbing between his shoulder blades, the other tugging at Zoro’s waist and pulling him closer. The metal against his back is a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin and Sanji’s touch, it makes him arch further into Sanji’s chest, hands tight on Sanji’s hip and shoulder.

It’s all heat and fire, an intensity to each of Sanji’s movements that pulls Zoro under and makes his blood burn hot beneath his skin. His mind is blissfully muted, full of a heady kind of static that makes the rest of his body relax. It’s instinct. It’s the lack of rational thought and the trust of the man in front of him, a mutual understanding of what they want and need.

“Fuck,” Sanji pants against his neck, teeth sharp against Zoro’s skin. “So fucking good, marimo.” His hands wander and grasp along Zoro’s torso and ass and Zoro’s head thumps back against the fridge.

Zoro locks a hand into Sanji’s hair and holds on tight.

Their relationship has turned into biting kisses, fighting that devolves into making out or sometimes the other way around. It’s something Zoro can live with, something he can understand. But there are also times when Sanji turns the tables.

Because Sanji isn’t just the monster that first drew Zoro in. He’s considerate and caring and _sweet._ He showers people with affection because he can, because he wants to. Zoro had watched for years as he doted on women and kids and other members of the crew. He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes and not understood.

He understands now, but it doesn’t make it any easier when Sanji turns that affection towards him. There are times when Sanji is sweet and gentle and Zoro is left unsure of what to do. His instincts end where Sanji’s kindness begins.

Zoro’s hand clenches in Sanji’s hair and he pushes back against the hands that hold him, tries to goad Sanji into moving back to familiar territory. But Sanji denies him, nuzzles into his jaw before pressing a series of small kisses to his lips. His hands slide up Zoro’s sides to his neck, one of them cupping Zoro’s jaw and the side of his face.

The last kiss is slow and deliberate, sends Zoro reeling and grasping at Sanji’s back. Zoro’s learned that Sanji’s much more forgiving about the lines of his suit in moments like this.

Finally, Sanji pulls back. Their lips are barely apart as he strokes Zoro’s cheek with his thumb. “Let me…” he whispers, so softly Zoro’s not sure he’s heard him. His mind is still a worthless mess and he can do nothing but groan low in his throat when Sanji pins him harder against the fridge and brings their mouths together again.

It’s warm and wet and maddening. Sanji sets a pace and sticks to it, gets one of his thighs between both of Zoro’s and matches the tilt of his body to the press of his tongue. Zoro pulls and grips and scratches, anything to get Sanji to _move,_ to fight back with the kind of fervor he’s used to. But it doesn’t happen.

Sanji hums into his mouth and rubs his neck and pushes fingers slowly through his hair. There’s affectionate in every move he makes and Zoro’s drowning in it, unable to surface for air.

Sanji licks at his lower lip and grabs both of Zoro’s hips, hauls him forward into the heat of his thigh. A groan punches out of Zoro’s throat.

He’s _hard._ So ridiculously hard for what Sanji’s been doing. He thinks to be embarrassed, a slight blush heating up his face, but Sanji doesn’t give him the time, just echoes Zoro’s groan and buries his mouth in another kiss.

“Zoro,” he finally breathes when they pull apart. “Zoro is this okay?”

Zoro grunts and pulls Sanji closer, but Sanji stops him.

“Words, marimo,” he leans back just enough that their eyes meet and a new shot of arousal races down Zoro’s spine at the sight. “I need to hear you say it.”

“It’s okay,” Zoro finally says. His voice is rough and he swallows thickly at the sound of it. “It’s okay,” he repeats again.

A smile curves Sanji’s lips and Zoro gets to taste it when Sanji leans back in for a kiss. It’s sweet and light and melts into something warm, like a piece of Sanji’s chocolate cake.

Sanji hums happily into his mouth and Zoro soaks in the sound, feels his chest constrict knowing he caused it. Fingers tangle in his hair and he lets them guide his head to the side so Sanji can kiss the side of his neck and do something sinful with his tongue. His hips jerk and Sanji’s teeth dig into his skin, muffling a groan as Zoro rubs against the hardness in his pants.

They stand frozen like that for a moment, both hard and hot and aching, breathing against each other and waiting for…something. Zoro isn’t sure.

Finally Sanji sucks in a breath and puts his hands on Zoro’s chest, levers himself back so their eyes can meet. He must find something in Zoro’s expression because he bites his lip and readjusts his hands to Zoro’s sides.

“Do you…” he starts. “Are you okay with this? With _everything_?”

The inflection isn’t lost on him and Zoro watches the dark of Sanji’s eye expand as he nods. He remembers Sanji’s earlier request, his need to hear him, and licks his lips.

“It’s okay,” he says.

The kitchen is dark and shadows flicker across their faces, the glow from the oven light partially obscured by Sanji’s shoulders. He expects Sanji to move, to grab and take what’s been given. He expects the want he sees in Sanji’s eyes to turn to hunger.

But Sanji’s hands soften, his eyes relax into more of their crystalline blue, and he only places a chaste kiss to Zoro’s lips before leaning away. “I’ll plan something,” he says.

\-------

_I’ll plan something._

Those words sit at the back of Zoro’s mind like an itch he can’t reach.

The chaos of the ship continues, days pass, but Zoro feels restless, unsettled, like he’s left some part of his training unfinished. He’s a man of action, not waiting around. It’s driving him insane.

It takes Sanji walking in on Zoro growling through his training, relegated to one side of the room as Franky patches a hole he’d punched in the wall, for him to realize how demanding a simple request for patience has been. He lets out a fond sigh and hands them each a glass of water, strides over to Zoro last and leans forward to murmur in his ear. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’ll be soon.”

Zoro has to focus on not crushing the glass in his hand, knows Sanji would be pissed at the loss of a cup and Chopper would lecture him about cutting his hands. The cool condensation slips through his fingers instead and he focuses on finishing his training, anything to take his mind off the knowing smile Sanji had on his face as he left. Anything to stop himself from wondering just how _soon_ Sanji meant.

It turns out to be that morning.

Zoro wakes up groggy with Sanji tugging at his arm, the first light not even spilling over the horizon as he’s lead to the kitchen. It’s quiet on the ship and they’re the only two awake. It makes sense, considering the ungodly hour.

He’s still shaking off sleep when they step over the threshold, everything happening in a blur of movement as Sanji suddenly reaches behind him to shut the door and subsequently pin Zoro against it. They’re closer than Zoro’s mind can properly comprehend and he manages a muddled sound of confusion before Sanji pulls him in for a kiss.

The wood of the door scrapes his back and Sanji’s hands press warm against his skin; standing in nothing but his shorts in the dull light of the kitchen he feels oddly exposed. Then Sanji steps impossibly closer and the scrape of fabric finds its way into his senses—because Sanji has on that ridiculous suit. Something about that strikes Zoro as unfair.

“Why the fuck are you dressed?” he finally manages, getting his brain to connect to the rest of his body. His hands clench in Sanji’s jacket just to prove his point.

“Why wouldn’t I be dressed?” Sanji asks, still kissing along the line of Zoro’s jaw. His hands are doing distracting things at Zoro’s sides.

“I thought the point of this,” Zoro starts, cut off by a breathy sound Sanji pulls from his throat, hands twitching at Sanji’s side as teeth dig into the side of his neck. “I thought the point of this was to be _un_ dressed.”

Sanji hums and licks at the spot he marked, covering red with a dampness that cools quickly in the morning air. “Eventually,” he concedes. “But getting there is half the fun.” He presses a kiss to Zoro’s lips then takes a small step back, slips his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it over a conveniently close chair.

Zoro eyes it then turns back to Sanji, “Did you really plan the furniture arrangement?”

“Yes,” he says. There’s no shame in his voice. His fingers trace the scar on Zoro’s chest then stop above his heart. “I want this to be good for us. For _you_.”

Zoro swallows thickly at that, feels his chest do something funny and his skin heat all the way up to his hairline. Something about the intensity and openness in Sanji’s eyes does strange things to his frame of mind. Buttons are slowly undone and then Sanji’s standing in front of him bare-chested, torso framed by the gauzy white of his shirt. There’s a thin line of hair leading down into the crisp black of his pants and Zoro watches, transfixed, as Sanji toys with the button before sliding off the belt.

It’s the most unique form of torture Zoro’s experienced in his life. He’s not sure if he wants it to end, go faster or slower or freeze in time so he can stare at the sight forever.

Sanji’s shirt goes over the back of the chair. Then his shoes are gently placed beside it, socks folded neatly alongside each one.

Zoro’s not sure where to look as he does it, settles for the slender lines of his back and the curve of his ass, not sure if he should stay or follow as Sanji’s pants finally join the rest.

The skin that gets pressed to his is nearly overwhelming. Sanji is smooth and warm all over and Zoro can’t decide where to place his hands, wants to touch everything but doesn’t know where to start. He decides on Sanji’s waist, tugs him in and startles at the hand Sanji puts on his face, fascinated as he is with the man in front of him and only half aware of what’s happening as Sanji pulls him in for a kiss.

Their lips meet and the wall is at his back again, Sanji’s thigh hot and instant between his own. It takes an embarrassingly long minute but his brain finally catches up again and his hands grab at Sanji’s back, hold him close so the friction is best as they grind against one another, panting into the kiss and the air between them.

He wants _more._

He wants to touch everything. He wants to taste everything. He wants to give Sanji everything needs.

He _wants._

Sanji makes a quiet noise against his lips, pulls back and brushes his thumb over Zoro’s brow. “It’s better if we’re slow,” he says. The frustration in Zoro’s expression must speak for itself because he gets a glint in his eye that spells trouble. “Unless you can’t?” he teases.

Zoro growls at that.

“It’d be too bad,” Sanji continues, voice pitched like he’s talking about someone’s dying grandmother and not their attempted sex life.

Zoro’s hands clench at his sides. “I can do it,” he says.

“Oh really?” There’s a beat of silence and then Sanji gets a considering look on his face. “Do you think you could keep your hands on the doorframe then? Do you have the self-control?”

It pushes all of Zoro’s buttons and before he really has the chance to think it through his fingers are curved around the doorframe. The grip isn’t the best but he’ll make it work.

He glares back at Sanji and wordlessly accepts the challenge.

“Alright, if you think you can,” Sanji steps forward and places a hand in the center of Zoro’s stomach, presses him back into the door while his other hand tugs at the waistband of his shorts. “Should we take these off then?”

Zoro grunts and Sanji’s eyes snap up to his face.

“Words, Zoro. I need to hear them.”

“Yes,” Zoro says. “Fine.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than cool air hits his skin, his bare ass against the wood and his erection slapping up to hit his stomach, just below Sanji’s hand. Sanji gets a dark look in his eye but doesn’t touch.

He reaches for his own shorts instead.

Zoro’s muscles twitch at that, fingers clenching into the wood in an effort to resist temptation. He wants to touch. He wants to be touched. He wants Sanji everywhere and all over.

Sanji steps closer and lines them up, smooths hands up and down Zoro’s sides and presses soft kisses along the column of his neck and behind his ear.

“Feel good?” he asks. One hand slips to the small of Zoro’s back, long fingers teasing at the cleft of his ass and Zoro sucks in a breath. “Words,” Sanji reminds.

Zoro bites off a string of curses and tips his head back against the door. “Yes.”

“Good,” Sanji murmurs, voice softer than Zoro’s ever heard as he steps back and grabs a small bottle from the nearby chair. His face as he turns back is enough to take Zoro’s breath away—filled with fondness and unrestrained want. Zoro feels his stomach drop and the heat in his chest fizzles up to his head, making everything swim and go cloudy at the edges.

Sanji steps back into his space and their next kiss is painfully sweet, slow and drawn out until Zoro isn’t sure which way is up, something that only worsens when Sanji’s hand wraps warm and slick around his cock. He moans against Sanji’s mouth and can’t help the slight buck of his hips. The wood creaks dangerously beneath his hands.

“Zoro,” Sanji breathes. “Break my kitchen and you die.”

“Then do something, you _fu—_ “ he breaks off into a moan as Sanji’s hand strokes up his length.

Sanji kisses the side of his mouth. “I will.”

It’s a promise that doesn’t come to fruition until Zoro is panting and boneless against the door, so close to the edge that he can practically feel himself falling. The sensation would be unbearable if it weren’t for the contented look on Sanji’s face and the low thrum of pleasure that’s been a constant in the pit of Zoro’s stomach.

He wants to come, is never slow about it when taking care of himself, but the satisfaction rolling off of Sanji in waves is enough to keep him sated. And he’s never been this hard before, this desperate for it.

Because Sanji is doing what he wants, and what he wants is very slow. Very, _very_ slow.

By the time Zoro has a finger up his ass he’s already so strung out he hardly cares, just gives a cursory grunt at the intrusion. By the time Sanji’s up to three, he’s more lucid and growling into Sanji’s shoulder.

“Feels fucking weird.”

Sanji laughs against him. “Yeah,” he agrees, then his voice goes lower, down into the range that does something to Zoro’s heart rate. “But just think, marimo, I’m _inside_ you.” He moves his fingers a bit to prove his point and Zoro has to admit the sensation sends little sparks up his spine, especially with the way Sanji keeps talking in his ear, anything from bits of poetry to near nonsense. He loves Zoro’s ass and wants to be in it, is most of what Zoro’s getting.

“Sanji,” Zoro finally says, cutting Sanji off mid sentence. Sanji pulls back enough to meet eye to eye. “I want…” he says. He shifts back against the fingers in his ass, trying to find the words but not able to work through the mud and fog currently obscuring his thoughts. Even with a clear head he’s not sure he’d be able to find them.

But Sanji understands like he always seems to, takes one look into Zoro’s eye and sucks in a breath. A hand finds Zoro’s hip. “Turn around,” he whispers. Fingers disappear and Zoro’s struck with a sudden emptiness as he re-braces himself against the door, only to jolt forward a moment later as something hot and blunt presses at his hole.

Sanji pushes in with a solid thrust, buries himself to the hilt and stays perfectly still as Zoro clenches and lets a near silent groan echo into the ceiling. Hands stroke his sides, his chest, before one finally tilts his head so their lips can meet in a messy kiss. The angle is awkward but Zoro finds himself leaning into it like a drowning man, overwhelmed by the heat of Sanji against him, _inside_ him.

The same powerful legs and thighs that cause so much destruction, that take lives and create pain, are now pressed against him, making something entirely different instead. Those same precious hands that Sanji protects so vehemently are wrapped around his cock and tracing over every scar they can find.

His arms clench and a shudder runs through him in frustration, muscles rolling in an attempt to stay still. He told Sanji he could stay still. But he doesn’t want to.

Warm lips find the side of his throat. “It’s okay,” Sanji murmurs. One slender hand covers each of his and their fingers come together, pulling Zoro’s from the frame. “What do you want?” he nuzzles into the space behind Zoro’s ear. “What do you want, Zoro? Tell me.”

“You,” Zoro breathes, like a secret and a promise all at once. He doesn’t know who’s more shocked at the answer: Sanji or himself. But they both take it just as well.

Sanji’s hips twitch against him and Zoro moans at the feeling, rocking back into him and dropping one hand to tangle in Sanji’s hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

They move together flawlessly, bodies as in tune as they are in a fight. It doesn’t take long before they’re both on the edge, one of Sanji’s hands wrapping around Zoro to bring him the rest of the way, urging him to completion and then easing him through it, murmuring meaningless affection into the part of his lips.

“Sanji,” Zoro finally says, spent and already feeling the tug of sleep. Everything is strangely out of focus—like a dream. He wants Sanji to be happy, wants to give him everything. He just wants... “ _Sanji_.”

Something warm spills into him and then Sanji is panting into his neck, pressing messy kisses along his shoulders and tugging him into his arms.

Zoro loses time somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom but Sanji seems capable of taking care of them both, wiping Zoro down and covering him with more kisses all the while. Zoro just closes his eye and drifts back off, not bothering to pay attention to his surrounding until he feels himself being pushed into a bed.

“Curly?” he mumbles, hand catching on something and taking hold.

Cracking open his eye, he looks up at Sanji, takes in the fact that he’s been put in Sanji’s bed and not his own.

Gentle fingers trace the lines of his knuckles, then the curve of his lips. “Go back to sleep, stupid marimo.”

Sanji’s voice is soft and Zoro lets his eye slip shut, falling asleep with the lingering warmth from Sanji’s touch like a blanket all around him.

\-------

“You shitty moss-head, what did you do with my bottle of sake?”

“I drank it, what else are you supposed to do with it?”

Clangs ring from the kitchen and the crew all raise their heads from where they’re lounging on deck.

“That was _cooking_ sake, you uncultured bastard!” Sanji’s voice bursts out from the kitchen, Zoro ahead of him with swords already half drawn.

“Tasted the same to me, shit-cook.”

Steel and leather clash and the crew all exchange knowing looks.

Nami lets out a sigh, “They’ve always been grossly married.”

“But now they’re having sex,” Robin adds with a smile.

Usopp shudders. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

Zoro and Sanji exchange another round of insults, locked a hairsbreadth away with Zoro’s swords ringing under the weight of Sanji’s kick. The air crackles between them then suddenly snaps.

“Shitty marimo,” Sanji says.

“Dart-brow,” Zoro growls back.

In the blink of an eye they’re on each other again, only this time instead of steel and leather it’s skin on skin, Sanji’s hands in Zoro’s hair as they channel energy into something entirely different than fighting. Sanji bites at Zoro’s lower lip and Zoro groans lowly into his mouth.

Franky scratches at the back of his head, “So long as they don’t break anything else. I just finished fixing the bench in the crow’s nest.”

\-------

 

 


End file.
